Sparring 'Sam's POV'
by graceandfire
Summary: Sam realizes how much he's missed sparring with Dean. "Sam takes Dean down with a leg sweep, following with a wrestling hold as he lets gravity and his greater body mass work for him."


'Mystery Spot', this week's Supernatural fic made me want to write something Sam-like and I ended up writing a companion piece to one my of older fics, 'Sparring', from Sam's point of view. Hope you enjoy.

**Sparring – Sam's POV**

Sam takes Dean down with a leg sweep, following with a wrestling hold as he lets gravity and his greater body mass work for him. He gives a grim smile of satisfaction as Dean chokes out a curse but keeps alert for any tricks because while Dean's preferred fighting style isn't graceful and isn't pretty, it is very, very effective. Even with Sam's longer reach, it takes every bit of his skill and focus to keep up with his brother in a fight.

Sam can't see Dean's face from their respective positions, but he hears his brother's breathing smooth out and braces himself for the counter move. It turns out to be verbal.

"Dude, it's good you've found _some _kinda use for those freaky ass mutant legs of yours," and Sam can _hear_ the smirk in the wise ass remark.

"My legs are _not_ mutant legs," he growls out, irritation lacing his voice even though he knows that's exactly the reaction Dean is going for. His brother turns his head enough so Sam can see the smirk is still there and Sam's frown darkens into a scowl. _He's just trying to distract you Sam, don't let him…fuck, _he curses silently as Dean squirms free and quick as a flash Sam finds himself on his ass, Dean rolling up and back out of reach before Sam can finish blinking.

Sam sits there and huffs, brows narrowing into a V. "Dude! I am a _normal_ size, okay?"

It makes Dean's smile go wide and mocking. Dean's been mocking him his whole life--he should really be immune to it by now--but no one can get him going like Dean. Maybe because no one else matters like Dean.

"Yeah, if by normal you mean a normal Sasquatch, _'freak boy',_" Dean's smile is still mocking but not mean—Dean's never mean—as Sam lunges and strikes, missing the ridiculously pretty face by a whisper.

Shit, Dean's fast.

He'd missed this, these sparring sessions. When Sam had left for Stanford, he'd kept in shape, staying away from the fancy, gleaming fitness centers his new friends liked, instead picking up sparring partners at dingy gyms and dojos that had never seen spandex or held an aerobics class. The run down buildings had felt familiar to a desperately homesick Sam but had barely been a drop in filling the Dean shaped hole in his life.

Sam had always known his father and Dean were good, better than good. Even when he'd been pissed off at them—Dad for being Dad and Dean for supporting everything Dad said and did—he'd known they were good. But keeping to themselves the way they had, away from other fighters and hunters, he honestly hadn't realized just _how_ good they were until he was on his own, sparring with rough and tough strangers and winning…because they weren't nearly as good as the men who had taught him.

He'd spent his childhood focused on becoming as good as Dean, running as fast, shooting as straight, fighting as hard. Dean was his hero, his protector and all Sam wanted was to be _just like Dean_. Over the years Sam's motives had changed as resentment and frustration crept in to color his view of his family but he'd still trained just as ferociously to prove he could _be_ as good a soldier, as good a fighter. To prove he was leaving this life behind because it was fucked up and _wrong_, not because he couldn't cut it. And underneath the rebelliousness had been the scared kid who knew monsters were real and that he was going to be leaving his protectors behind. He was going to have to protect himself.

Sam strikes out in a feint, gets deflected and sees Dean move just a fraction too late to stop it. Like a bull, Dean muscles his way in, catching Sam with an elbow to the gut and following up with a flip that slams him down and sends him skidding. Sam lets the throw work for him, rolling out of Dean's reach and springing up, eyes narrowing.

Oh that is _so_ not fucking happening again.

He's planning how to best mount a serious ass kicking when he sees Dean break into a sudden grin. It's not his brother's normal—let me mock you—grin either. It's just…happy. It makes Sam hesitate, puzzled, since Dean takes sparring seriously. It's one of the few things he _does_ take seriously. "What are you smiling at, you loon?"

His brother just shakes his head and in an instant the open smile is replaced by the more familiar cocky version and Sam feels a small pang in his chest at seeing it gone as Dean sneers. "Nothing. Now stop stalling Princess, unless you need the rest that is."

Sam rolls his eyes and launches his attack before Dean can read his intentions, satisfaction surging as he gets his brother in another head lock. Dean manages to fight free, but not without the toll of a split lip.

As his brother raises a hand to nonchalantly wipe at the blood, he pauses long enough to give Sam an approving grin that sets off a warm glow of satisfaction in Sam's chest. His big brother's approval still matters even after all these years.

He feels an answering grin rise up. Damn, he's really missed this.

The End


End file.
